Senses
by Vanyarin
Summary: The massacre of Tarsus IV took too much from Jim. His home, his friends... his sight. Yet, he's persevered with strength in the following years. And he certainly doesn't need an overprotective Vulcan suddenly barreling into his life.


**AN:**

**Hello :)**

**This fic is: Spock/Kirk, WIP, bonding, angst . . .**

**The rating will likely be M in the foreseeable future. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Star Trek, nor am I profiting from this. **

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><p>"Spock?"<p>

"_Spock_."

Lieutenant Uhura's voice began to fade into the background of Starfleet's library, as for what was seemingly the first time in his twenty-seven years, Spock was unable to adaquately concentrate. His mind was being barraged—intruded upon by a range of unwelcome, insistent emotions that he had yet to identify the source of. The strongest of which, for an unidentified reason, was _anticipation_. Additionally, there was an impulse that immediately made itself known: the urge to display these emotions rather than suppress, to let go, and, contributing to his confusion on the matter, to _run_ in a certain direction_._

Yet, what was the destination? Was the act of running without aim not an illogical endeavor?

"Spock."

Such an onset of abnormal mental symptoms was disconcerting.

Spock knew of two probable causes, each a factor of his Vulcan heritage. Yet he found himself pressed to confront the fact that, due to a lack of symptoms that should have gradually presented themselves at least twenty-four hours prior, one of the candidates of cause was an unlikely culprit.

"Oh. _Oh. _Are you… ?" The cadet trailed off, eyes widening. "Are you going into Pon farr?" With that statement, shock enveloped the lingering emotions and Spock returned back into a sense of consciousness.

"I assuredly am not entering Pon farr." The unintentional bite in his tone took him by surprise, and he immediately reverted his eyes from hers. It was not his intention to be impolite, regardless of the invasive question at hand.

How she knew of such an event, Spock was uncertain. They had, at this point, developed something akin to friendship, but he had not deemed it prudent or, in any case, relevant to share the more intimate aspects of the Vulcan culture with her. Thus, he suspected that she must have come across the subject by taking it upon herself to research Vulcan texts.

"Okay, god… why are you acting so strange today?"

Spock resolved to place his focus elsewhere, and proceeded to reach out towards the unfinished game of chess between them. "Checkmate."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Indeed. I will retire to meditate, Lieutenant." On that note, Spock rose from his seat and departed, leaving behind a confusion-stricken, irritated cadet.

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><p>Approximately an hour later, Spock sat in his quarters after several fruitless attempts at meditation, emotions continuing to rise and causing him to be uncomfortably restless. However, if his theory regarding the source of the issue was correct, then he speculated that his emotions would likely soon be controllable once more. This notion was... comforting. To a degree. His current state was too foreign, too reminiscent of his childhood and the lack of control that had accompanied it.<p>

A familiar buzz invaded his ears from the far corner of the room, interrupting his thoughts and signaling a message present on his communicator.

_ Captain Garrovick just commed me—he wants to change the Farragut's officer assignments again. He's being stubborn, and I need you to out-logic him. Report to my office when possible. – Pike _

As Spock departed towards Captain Pike's office, the anticipation grew fiercer, heightening and thrumming in his blood as though it was tangible, _burning_. This did further his annoyance, until his mind was overcome by an emotion that was far stronger.

Longing. Desire beyond his previous comprehension.

At that moment, all traces of doubt fled from his thoughts, and he was not uncertain of his suspicions any longer.

_Soon, I will encounter my T'hy'la._

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><p>There were certain things that made Jim blissfully content. The little things in life. Simple pleasures he'd likely never admit to anyone else.<p>

He loved the smooth, flawless feel of metal underneath his fingers and the scent of grass and the bells of a soprano's song. The heat of a tight embrace was his haven—the sound of a comforting voice his solace.

Yet the ability to _see_ was not missed nearly as much as he expected it to be.

It did infuriate him, at first, to have his sight stolen in the way it was. It was a scar, a permanent reminder of the killers of his past. Initially, he had craved justice like starving man.

And now, he resolved to be indifferent towards his blindness most of the time. Him? Dwelling on things? He just wasn't that kind of person anymore. He needed to live life to its fullest. To thrive.

Yet, occasionally, he did feel a longing for sight. For _beauty_.

One of those rare moments overwhelmed him as he walked out of Pike's office one day, and the blonde immediately ceased to remember why he was there in the first place as his body clashed into a male form.

As soon as a hand reached out to steady him, fire scorched through his veins, alighting his nerves. A gasp. His? He didn't know, couldn't focus on anything but the rush of euphoria settling into his body, seeping into his muscles until all he wanted was to grasp at the source. And he did—his fingers seized the fabric of the man's shirt and tightened into fists, clutching him as if he was a lifeline.

"I ask that you unhand me." The voice was almost strained, but exquisite nonetheless, vibrating with a deep brand of richness that made Jim want to melt. He didn't move, didn't think he could if he wanted to. But a firm pair of hands closed over his wrists, tugging them away so gently, as though he was made of glass. Jim's hands fell to his sides, heart sinking to his feet. Upon the loss, suddenly something felt wrong… empty.

Incomplete.

"W-What the hell was that?" A sharp inhale racked through his throat. _Geez. Get a grip._

The sound of Pike sliding open the door behind him and emerging threw Jim back into a state of reality "Oh. Hello, Spock." Pike paused. "Have you met Jim?"

"I have not, Captain."

_Goddamn._ _That goddamn fucking voice is making my brain go haywire. _Reality escaped from Jim, once again.

"Jim, this is Spock, my newly assigned first officer. Spock, this is Jim—honorary Starfleet engineer and head designer of the _Enterprise_."

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><p><strong>Please review? :) <strong>


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